The Price of Freedom
by paintallthestuff
Summary: Barton had a perfect track record at SHIELD... Until he met her. The story of how Clint Barton brought Natasha Romanoff in. Rated for some swearing. An excerpt of the sequel is now up!
1. Barton's Call

**MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, RUSSIA**

"Coulson, if that little bitch keeps me waiting any longer, I'm going to lose a couple of fingers… and some other parts that I most definitely do _not_ want to part with," Clint Barton murmured into his comm. His position on the rooftop of the warehouse had left him exposed to the elements for far too long. The sheet of metal beneath him was still radiating cold, and he was completely hidden under a blanket of snow. The feeling had left his lower body hours ago.

"Copy that," Coulson said with barely concealed mirth. The bastard was probably sitting in a toasty hotel room with a cup of coffee listening to him whine. In a warm bed, after a long hot shower… He snapped out of his fantasies when he spotted the target exiting the storage unit opposite.

"Target acquired. Going radio silent." He slipped the SHIELD issue comm into his vest pocket, and then slowly knocked an arrow. He pulled the string taut, cursing the sorry state of his fingers. It wasn't going to be a clean shot. Aiming for the back of her neck, he exhaled slowly… and slammed into the tin of the warehouse roof as a sharp pain exploded across the back of his head. Twisting sharply, he caught sight of a man on another roof… holding a slingshot. What the hell? And people teased _him_ for using a primitive weapon.

Before he could so much as blink, an arrow was protruding from the man's throat. Barton watches for a moment as he slips off the roof, spasming on the ground, choking on his own blood. He swore under his breath, and turned back around. As he expected, the target had slipped out of his grasp... _again_. He got to his feet painfully, swung down, and retrieved his arrow. He shook his head in disbelief. This girl was _incredible_. This was the 23rd time she had slipped out of his grasp, leading him on a wild goose chase around the world. Fury was going to freaking kill him. Sighing, he slipped his comm back into his ear.

"Coulson, you aren't going to believe this…"

**MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, COLORADO- SHIELD Headquarters**  
(A_ month ago)_

"You have got to be kidding me" Clint stared at the file, then looked at Fury incredulously.

"She's dangerous."

"She's a child."

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova is a threat to this agency. You _will_ take her out." A hint of annoyance was creeping into the Director's voice.

"What is she, 15 years old?"

"17." How Fury could deliver this information without any hint of emotion in his voice was beyond him.

"Come on, how many people could a girl who can't even legally purchase alcohol have possibly killed?"

"179."

"WHAT?" Clint spat a mouthful of coffee all over the briefing room table. Ah well, it tasted like motor oil. Fury, however, was not amused.

"That's an estimate… we're almost certain there's more. She has a better success rate then you do, Barton… has since she turned 14."

"You're kidding me. She's that good, and you haven't sent someone after her years ago?"

"We didn't know who or where she was. Only that she calls herself the Black Widow."

"It took the most advanced intelligence agency in the world three years to assemble a…" Clint flipped through the report, "3 page file on her?"

"Well, no… We have a lot more on her suspected kills and history. But it's way above your pay grade."

"How far above?"

"Level ten classification required."

"Ok… I get the picture. She's a really fucking good assassin. But if you expect me to kill her based on the information you've given me, you've got another thing coming."

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. Barton was going to be the death of him someday. "You have 36 hours to tail her and see her work for yourself. Then you take her out… now get out of my office before I shoot you."

"Always a pleasure, Director." Clint grinned, and then exited the room as fast as possible. Threats from Fury were not to be taken lightly. Two hours later, he was on a plane to Prague- the Widow's last known location. Little did he know it would take him more than a month to get within 10 feet of who he is now sure is the most talented escape artist ever, Houdini be damned.

**Middle of Nowhere, Russia- SHIELD Safe House**

"Barton, get up!"

"Wha-what?" Clint bolted upright, and caught the vest Coulson threw at him.

"HQ got word about her next target… her employers aren't nearly as careful as she is."

"Where are we going?" Clint rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. Having dragged his frozen ass back to the motel at three in the morning, he hadn't gotten much sleep.

"Well, we're leaving this frozen wasteland. Hope you've been brushing up on your German." Clint groaned.

"And there's more. Fury's going to pull you from the op after this. You have to get her tonight, or Watson's going to get the case."

Clint snorted. "That moron can't hit the side of a barn. I'd like to see him take her down." He made sure to keep his face indifferent, but his thoughts were racing. If he was pulled, his perfect track record would be ruined. Grabbing his bow, he followed Coulson to the extraction point. It was now or never.

**Middle of Nowhere, Germany**

"Barton, report."

"Calm down Coulson. She's still seducing the rich guy." Clint shifted on his tree branch, trying to get comfortable. The manor was situated in a forest deep in the German countryside, providing him with plenty of cover. Another bonus was the exorbitant number of windows said rich guy's manor had, giving him plenty of opportunities to examine the target. She sure cleaned up nice. In a floor-length black dress that clung in all the right places and revealed plenty of porcelain skin, no one paid enough attention to her face to notice that even with the heavy layer of makeup, she looked a bit too young to be at the party. She was currently running her fingers up her targets arm, while he practically drooled while ogling her cleavage.

She leaned close and murmured something in the man's ear, causing him to grin and lead her down a hallway. "Target has left with the unfortunate bastard- he didn't last long. I have all exits covered."

"Copy that. Remember, this is your last shot."

Clint chose to ignore that last remark, and Coulson didn't press him. After a few tense minutes, he spotted a figure on the roof of the house. "Coulson, I think she's on the roof."

"What do you mean, you _think_ she's on the roof?"

"I'm not sure… if that's her, she somehow managed to change into a black bodysuit."

"Maybe she had it on her?"

"Coulson, I'm no expert on women's apparel, but I'm pretty sure people would notice if you had camouflage gear and numerous weapons tucked under a skintight dress." Clint replied dryly. He missed Coulson's reply when she ran across the roof, leaped off the edge, and landed on a tree branch. She swung from branch to branch, with catlike grace, and only slight rustles indicated her location.

"Shit, I think she's heading this way." He looked around frantically, then decided anything he did would only give him away. Thankfully, she seemed to think that she was far enough away from the house. Taking to the ground, she walked among the trees away from him.

"Ok, she's moving away." Clint whispered. At that moment, his mud caked boot slipped off the branch, snapping several twigs.

In an instant, she had whirled around and aimed her gun at him. Not in his direction, but directly at his head. Clint swore. Nowhere in his briefing had Fury mentioned the girl had bat hearing. He held his breath, hoping she would blame the sound on the tread of an animal. She did not.

"Coulson, I've been made." He murmured, before disengaging his comm. Then he raised his voice. "Considering that we both have weapons pointed at each other's head, how about we call it a stalemate? Do you promise not to shoot me while I climb down?"

She cocked her head, considering him. Then, she slowly lowered her pistol. "I'm better at hand-to-hand combat anyways." Her voice had a slight musical lilt to it, the only sign that she was not a native English speaker.

Clint hung his bow on his quiver, and then swung to the ground. He approached her slowly, wary of dying at her hands like so many before him. He could see her face clearly now. Somehow, she had managed to scrub it free of makeup, and her true age was clearly visible.

"You're that American whose been following me since Prague." The statement shocked him.

"What-how- you knew?" He spluttered.

"No roof repairman is as well fed as you are, and if they were all so dedicated the city would not be so decrepit," She answered easily, amused.

"You're good."

She inclined her head. "I would not be alive if I was not the best."

"The best? I don't know about that-" He stopped talking to block a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. "Enough small talk," she growled, jabbing at his side. Clint concentrated on not getting killed in the next few minutes. He had been observing her long enough to know how deadly her graceful, aerobic style could be. After a while, he noticed that he was laughing in exhilaration, and that she also had a small smile on her face. It was so rare that he was able to find a suitable sparring partner, but they were well matched. He was much stronger, but she was infinitely more agile and flexible, throwing kicks so fast they were dizzying. While she was dodging one of his punches, her ski cap came loose. Her mane of bright auburn hair caused him to lose focus for a fraction of a second, and next thing Clint knew he was on his back, bow digging uncomfortably into his shoulder, while she sat on his chest.

"Men," she scoffed, "are far too easy to manipulate. Now, whom are you working for?" She hissed, holding a knife to his throat.

"I- Coulson!" He exclaimed, staring over her shoulder, hoping it would distract her. Her head whipped around, and he flipped them over until she was under him, and pinned her down with both arms. After a few moments, she stopped struggling, acknowledging hissuperior strength. He pried the knife out of her hands, tossing it aside. In an instant, an arrow was at her throat.

"Such a medieval weapon," she spat. "Must be low-budget, if your agency doesn't even have the money to buy a decent gun." He ignored the verbal jab.

"I am here to kill you," he said slowly. To his surprise, she seemed resigned to the fact, and raised her head to look at him. "Do it then," she said, her voice losing it's sharp edge.

He stared down into her emerald green eyes. He saw why her victims were rendered helpless in her presence. With the fiery hair and porcelain skin, she was drop-dead gorgeous. "You aren't going to beg?"

"Please, there's no point. I would have killed you." She said bitterly.

"Why are you doing this? You're too young to be in this business."

"I have a very specific skillset. If I don't work, I'll starve. Kill or be killed, right?" She laughed bitterly.

"I was like you once." Clint realized. That was the final straw. "Come work for SHIELD."

"What?"

"My agency. We could use someone with your skills."

"No. I swore no one would own me again. I'm free now, and that's how it's going to stay."

"But are you free, really?"

At that, she fell silent. "You know I'm right. You kill anyone to survive, no questions asked. At SHIELD, you get paid monthly, not for each job. You get to ask about the targets, and can turn down missions as you see fit. So in a way, I'm freer than you are."

"They all say that," she said bitterly, a hint of remorse creeping into her voice. "I won't fall for it again." Her broken voice sealed the deal.

"Listen, my people are on their way. I'm being pulled off this case tonight anyways, so if I let you go, no one will bother you unless you screw up. Just consider it, ok? I've watched you long enough to know that you'll know how to track me down if you change your mind. Now, if I let you go, do you promise not to shoot me in the back when I walk away?"

She stared at him for a moment, and then slowly nodded. He rolled off her, set his weapons on the ground, and handed her the knife and pistol he had knocked out of her hands. She took them, and got to her feet. Backing up a few steps, she opened her mouth, but seemed to think better of it. Turning on her heels, she sprinted through the dense trees. In seconds, she was gone, leaving Clint to ponder exactly what the fuck he had just done.

**AUTHORS NOTE: So, this is my first attempt at a FanFiction story, so I would love to hear from the more experienced writers out there! Please review guys, I want to make this story as good as possible, and that's only possible if I know what the readers think about it. Expect updates every few days (once a week at the least)… Don't worry; everyone's favorite assassins will meet again in the next chapter! **


	2. Budapest, Sweet Budapest

**Hey, guys! Really pleased with how this turned out- I included some fluff for all the Clintasha shippers out there, but there's plenty of action too… Anyways, enjoy and review! Happy Holidays!**

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Clint was being followed. He vaguely suspected it when he spotted a flash of auburn hair in the marketplace in Chang Mai; considering it was gone as soon as he blinked, he blamed it on paranoia. But ever since, he had been keeping an eye out for the mysterious red-haired girl. More signs began to surface, until he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Natalia Romanova was helping him out on his ops. Fury had even stopped him in the hallway at base to let him know that he was pleased with how fast Clint was completing assignments now, and complements from Fury were hard to come by. The Director probably assumed it was his way to seek redemption for the failure in Germany, but Clint wasn't fooled. He was going to catch her at it if it killed him.

There was no sign of her for two weeks, but he knew she was out there. Then, in an airport in Brazil, he spotted her browsing magazines two booths away from the Starbucks. The oversized sunglasses perched on her dainty nose were a nice touch, but the hair was unmistakable. Clint grinned and raised his cup in her direction, and he swore that a corner of her lip twitch.

The help became more obvious now that she knew he had caught her at her own game. During a particularly difficult job in Naples, Clint had been in serious danger of being overwhelmed. At that exact moment, two of the men- the supposed leaders- had tumbled to the ground, a neat bullet wound in the center of their foreheads. He had run in the chaos that followed, and the following day when he woke in the safe house a bundle of his arrows were sitting on the windowsill, cleaned and tied together with a length of twine. It took him three hours to realize that there was something decidedly wrong with the fact that she had been able to find the house despite his best efforts to shake any tails.

That was the way they operated over the next few months, playing their own special game. He tried to keep track of the missions he suspected her involvement in, and she counted the instances where he had spotted her. Clint knew there was only one reason why she was following him- she was considering the offer. If she wanted a demonstration, so be it. They never talked, or acknowledged each other's roles… until that fateful mission in Budapest.

* * *

**BUDAPEST, HUNGARY- An obliterated square somewhere…**

It was supposed to be a simple infiltration mission- get in, nab the bad guy, get out. But where Clint Barton was involved, it was rarely that simple. Actually, he really should have seen it coming, Clint reminisced while zigzagging madly across the square, a grenade exploding where he had been standing mere seconds before. The target had anticipated his arrival, and the place had been swarming with guards- at least a hundred of which were now in hot pursuit. He was in some deep shit, and had absolutely no freaking idea how he was going to be able to stay alive until the extraction team came, ETA being 10 minutes away.

The top of the fountain he was crouching behind exploded, raining bits of marble all over the pavement. Clint cursed, peering over the top and shooting at anything that moved. They were closing in… and he was running out of arrows. Then, a slim black-clad figure leaped over an overturned car and landed next to him. "Don't shoot!" She said, but it was too late. He watched in horror as an arrow grazed her shoulder; it would have impaled her had she not bent her knee during the fall.

"I said, don't shoot," Natalia growled, checking the wound.

"Save it, I didn't know it was you," Clint said, relief clearly evident in his voice.

"Estimate?" She said, pulling two slim pistols out of the holsters on her belt.

"There are at least 40 left."

"Impressive… there were at least a hundred on your tail when you left the facility. While we're on the subject, whose your tech guy? The scrambler you used is a piece of shit- even I picked up on it, and I only have a handheld sweeper." Natalia dispatched several of the idiots who were trying to circle around the fountain without cover.

"Yeah, well, I'm out of explosive arrows. I used all five to bring an apartment building down on them," he said, firing arrows frantically.

"I'll take the left, you take the right, and watch the center out of your peripherals," she commanded, setting down several oddly shaped metal disks. "And here," she said, throwing a state of the art machine gun down at his feet. "You're almost out."

"Where the hell did that come from?"

"You talk too much." She said, taking three down in quick succession. She threw a disk at a dented car some of the opposition was crouched behind. Seconds and a blinding flash of light later, it was a heap of ash.

"What the hell is that?" Barton screamed, trying to clear the spots from his vision, groping for the machine gun.

"Oh my god, get down!"

"What? Oh shit!" Clint threw himself to the ground while a _flaming torch_ whistled over his head. "Why don't we have any of this stuff?!"

"Like I said, you're tech guy sucks," she remarked dryly, firing several times. Both pistols clicked without any discharge.

"Cover me," she said, ducking and pulling ammo out of her never-ending assortment of pockets. Mary Poppins had nothing on this girl.

"Listen, I called for extraction- my people are going to be here in a few minutes. There are only about a dozen of them left- I can take care of this myself. You should get out of here."

"Yeah, well, I've been thinking about that offer." She said absently, slamming the clips into her pistols.

"And?"

"You're going to die if I leave, and I owe you one anyways. Promise your agency won't kill me on sight?" She asked, biting her lip as she aimed at a particularly evasive operative.

"Coulson's leading the team… he'll understand. Will you be alright on your own for a few seconds?" She nodded in confirmation, never taking her eyes off the battlefield in front of her.

"Coulson!" Clint said, flipping over and pressing on his comm.

"Barton! How are you not dead yet?" Coulson panted, listening to the chaos unfolding on Barton's side.

"Thanks for that. Anyways, Romanova is here, we're blowing up a whole bunch of shit, tell your team not to kill her. Later!" Clint disengaged the comm before Coulson could formulate a reply. There was going to be a lot of unpleasant questions asked during the debriefing...

"Okay," he said, turning back around, "How many are left-" He trailed off when he saw Natalia sitting cross-legged on the ground, calmly cleaning her pistols. Not a thing stirred in the smoking rubble behind her.

"I'm not even going to ask," he muttered. Seriously? It had been a freaking warzone seconds ago, and now she was already half packed up?

"You might have time to get out of here before-"

"Put your hands up, and set down your weapons!" A voice screeched. Sighing, he spun on his heel and spotted approximately ten SHIELD agents fanning out around the fountain, Coulson standing in the center with a large bullhorn. Clint quickly stepped in front of Natalia, shielding her with his body.

"Anyone who aims at her is going to have an arrow in their eye socket before they can squeeze the trigger," he threatened in a deadly calm voice.

"Relax," Natalia rolled her eyes, scrambling to her feet.

"I SAID put your hands up, and set down your weapons!" Coulson repeated desperately.

"I'm going to need my hands to set down my weapons," she said curtly. Coulson nodded slowly. All twelve SHIELD members watched in amazement as she set down the two pistols, then proceeded to extract from various areas of her person four knives, a dart gun, compact filled with an assortment of darts and tranquilizers, vials of poison, a switchblade, nun chucks, throwing stars, and several deadly contraptions that were completely unrecognizable.

"Done yet?" Coulson said dryly, ogling the insanely large pile of weaponry. Adding her bracelet and utility belt to the pile, she nodded. Turning to Barton, she said matter-of-factly, "If I don't get this stuff back, I'm going to kill you, then bring you back to life just so I can kill you again," He swallowed hard, and then coughed in assent.

"Alright. Agent Bridgers?" Coulson called out. A scrawny man stepped out of their ranks, holding a syringe. Peering around Clint, Natalia's eyes landed on the medical apparatus. The effect was instantaneous- her eyes widened, and she lunged at the wiry agent, screaming in Russian. Clint grabbed her around the waist, holding her against his chest as she struggled. "Stand down!" He barked at the SHIELD agents. As Bridgers approached, all the fight went out of her.

"Please, no… no!" She wept, feebly trying to get Clint to release her. He stared in shock at the breakdown, then narrowed his eyes in determination.

"Agent Bridgers, hand me the syringe."

"No!" She screamed, clawing at his thickly muscled arms, writhing in horror.

"Stop… No... Damn it Natalia, listen to me!" The use of her proper name stopped her, and she craned her head back, looking at him. The wordless plead in her eyes almost broke him, but he squared his jaw and continued his explanation.

"This solution will knock you out for the next 12 hours. It's a standard procedure- we can't disclose SHIELD's location. Nobody else here trusts you yet, so we have to bring you in like any other prisoner or recruit. You knew all this before, didn't you?" She nodded slowly, the panic slowly fading away.

He brought the syringe down to her neck. "Let me," she said quietly. He hesitated, then slowly released her, passing the syringe over. She took a shaky breath, turning to face him. Tilted her head, she slipped the needle under her skin, hit an artery, and pressed the plunger in one practiced move. He winced, not wanting to know where she had gotten the practice. She stared at him defiantly, letting Clint know that if anything happened to her, it was completely his fault. Then, she swayed on her feet, staggering forward. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled. He caught her, lowering her limp body to the ground, while the SHIELD team swarmed forward to carry her to the aircraft. "I'm sorry," he whispered, but she was too far gone to hear.

* * *

**So... what do you think? I'm open to constructive criticism and any ideas you guys have about plot or character development. Contemplating doing something from Natasha (currently Natalia)'s POV… thought maybe I should run it past you guys first (hint: press the review button). Get ready for Fury's… fury! Would NOT want to be in Clint's shoes in the next chapter… OoOoOo**


	3. Hospitals and Interrogations

**WARNING: Hints of previous rape, nothing explicit.**

* * *

**SHIELD Headquarters- Medical Bay**

Natalia stirred in the cold slab of a bed. Her eyes refused to open, eyelids sticking together as if they had been glued shut. Disconnected thoughts and memories floated in her mind, tangible and fragile things, dissipating if she tried to grab hold of them. _A fountain… a blazing fire… _One weathered face kept appearing over and over, and she felt that it was important somehow. The seconds trickled by, and she still could not recall who he was. Pins and needles crept into her fingers and toes, spreading throughout her body. Feeling returned in the wake of the prickling sensation, and when she felt the cold metal against her wrists, all the pieces came together.

She bolted upright, swinging her head wildly from side to side, trying to process the scene before her. The hazy images cleared as she blinked. She appeared to be in a hospital, with about a dozen metal beds fitted with thin mattresses. If not for the handcuffs holding her to the bedframe and the memories she associated with 'hospitals', she might have felt safe. Natalia swore under her breath- she had woken up like this far too many times. She turned, and froze. The American was watching her in amusement, if the curled lower lip was anything to go by. He was sitting on the bed next to hers, and appeared to only be mildly wounded.

"What's wrong with you?" She said brusquely, not sure what to make of this place.

"Good morning to you too," he chuckled. "Sorry about the cuffs, but after your little scene in Budapest… well, everyone's a bit wary." Her eyes landed on the bandages on his forearms, and she winced, remembering how she had scratched and bit him trying to get away from the man with the injection.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"What happened to you back there?" his voice was gentle, and she could not stand the pity in his stormy blue-gray eyes.

"A remnant of my childhood," Natalia said bitterly. The unbidden memories rushed forward, threatening to overcome her again.

_An icy metal operating table surrounded by an army of doctors, observing her with those hard, calculating eyes. The blank white walls threatening to close up around her, sending the sound of her screams back to her, a reminder that no one was going to help her- not now, not ever. Being poked and prodded for days on end, with nurses recording something on a clipboard every time she broke down and begged for mercy…_

"_You've been a very bad girl, Natalia," Ivan's gleeful voice resounded in her ears. "So you must be punished, my little spider." The paralysis solution seeps into her veins, drags down her limbs and renders her helpless. She could only watch in horror as he unfastened his belt, lust clouding his eyes. He came nearer, pulling her head back, sneering at the look on her face-_

"Natalia!" The voice snapped her out of the flashbacks. She realized she was shaking again, and took a breath to steady herself. The American looked curious, but didn't press her.

"Don't call me that."

"What, Natalia?"

"Yes. No one has used that name in quite some time; I prefer it that way." He nodded, then visibly brightened as a thought came to him.

"We haven't been formally introduced. It's Clint. Clint Barton," he held out his hand, and then retracted it. "I would shake your hand, but…" he gestured to the cuffs, then froze and frowned. Natalia looked down, and noticed that she had already freed one of her hands, and was picking the other lock as they spoke. "Sorry- it's a habit." He only laughed, shaking his head in amusement. "You are unbelievable," Barton said wryly. _Clint Barton._ The name was so _American_ that it made her smile.

"Well, now that you're awake, I should get Coulson. The next few days are not going to be pleasant," he warned, but she had already known that. He turned and walked down the aisle between the beds, and she felt a brief surge of panic.

"Barton!" he turned, puzzled.

"Why did you let me go, that day?"

"I… I don't really know," he said slowly, as if the answer surprised him. "I thought it was because you reminded me of myself, but it's more than that." She nodded slowly, still puzzled.

"Thank you." He seemed taken aback, then cleared his throat and muttered, "don't mention it." He disappeared around the corner, and then Natalia heard snippets of his conversation.

"Coulson… yeah… she's awake…" She waited, but he did not return to the hospital room. Sighing, she braced herself for the tidal wave of less friendly people that would appear over the next few days.

* * *

**SHIELD Headquarters- An Interrogation Room Somewhere…**

She was bored out of her mind. The interrogation room was windowless and completely _blank_. The only furniture being the wheelchair she was currently strapped into, a metal table, and a swivel chair, she had had nothing to amuse herself with since the team of escorts had thrown her in here a few hours ago. So she stared at the reflective wall that Barton's people were undoubtedly behind, tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair impatiently. It was very clear that these morons were exercising their authority by making her wait, but it was only giving her time to perfect her story. Honesty may be the best policy, but she was the best espionage agent for a reason. She couldn't wait for the thrill of the interrogation, the difficulty of finding the balance between truth and lies so that she could extract the optimum amount of information from the opposition. It didn't matter that she was on the wrong side of the interrogation table; the result was always the same. Her web of lies never failed to ensnare the victim.

Said victim walked in at that very moment, a thin file clamped in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. With a single glance, Natalia determined that this was the man who had led the extraction team in Budapest and the 'Coulson' Barton was referring to. He was obviously here to wear her down for the real leader of this operation. She would have a little fun with this one.

He sat down opposite her, and it finally began.

"Can you confirm your name?"

"It's in the file you have in front of you. You were aware of everything your agency knew about me before you walked into this room, so why don't you cut the crap and get down to the questions you really want answered?" The only reaction to the wry comment was a slight tightening of his jaw- at least they sent a patient one.

"Let me remind you, Ms. Romanova, that you are in our custody. We can ask you any questions we want, and you will answer if you know what's good for you."

"I'm no stranger to torture. Do what you like."

"SHIELD does not torture anyone," he said gently. "Now, what is your name?" He waited a few seconds, then realized that he was not going to get an answer. Sighing, he flipped through the file. "Can you give me the name of your previous employers?"

"You might want to write this down," she leaned forwards intently. He fumbled in his pockets for a pen, then flipped open the file, trying to find an empty page.

"E-M-E-T-I-B. Got it? Now reverse it." He quickly wrote out the new words. BITEME. Natalia cracked up at the expression on his face.

" Ms. Romanova, let me assure you that you will _not_ be amused if you continue this behavior," he warned, a vein pulsing in his forehead. She continued smirking, and he snapped.

"Listen to me-"

"No, you listen to me," Natalia hissed, tired of the game. "I know you were sent to wear me down for your boss. I am the best interrogator in the business- I know how this works; don't even try to contradict me. Let me tell you of how well this strategy is working. You have gleaned no knowledge on me that you didn't know when you walked into this room, except that you don't like me and think I'm arrogant. I, on the other hand, know exactly how much information your agency has on me. When you opened that file to write, you showed me _everything_. This will allow me modify my answers to future questions, and you will be none the wiser of the lies. Also, I have plenty of information on you yourself, just through minutes of observation. So before you fuck things up even more, _Agent Coulson_, why don't you call your boss in?" He was at a loss for words, and then played the final card in a desperate attempt to restore his reputation.

"The leader of this agency is a very busy man. He cannot be reached at this moment. Can we proceed?" She simply sighed in exasperation.

"As for your boss, he's on the other side of that pane of glass. And, I did not know he was the leader of your agency until you told me. You should really watch your words." Natalia leaned back in her chair, oblivious to the hate glistening in the agent's eyes. After a moment, Coulson sighed and dragged the heel of his hand across his face. "Director Fury?" he called out, giving in to save himself some further embarrassment. The door hissed open, and she heard slow applause. Looking up, Natalia spotted an intimidating man, African-American, sporting a trench coat and eye patch. Seriously? This agency really _loved_ cliché statements.

"Impressive, Ms. Romanova," he drawled. "But given your reputation, you truly are in no position to demand anything from us." An enormous file fell onto the table with a thud.

"Let's get started," he paced in front of her. "You are a highly volatile assassin- the kind that is this agency's worst nightmare. Do you even know your own kill count?" He peered at her expectantly.

"I want Barton as a witness," she demanded bluntly.

"And I want you dead. Funny how things turn out, isn't it? Barton cannot be reached. Now, what is your kill count?" He got silence in response, and proceeded to try to stare her down. It didn't work.

"He's behind-"

"Yes, he's behind the goddamn glass. I need a new job," he muttered. "Barton, get your ass in here."

At that, Agent Barton tumbled through the door, laughing uncontrollably. He shut up when he realized all three of the most dangerous people he'd ever met were glaring at him. Coughing, he choked out a greeting, and moved to stand in the corner of the room.

"I'm only going to ask you one more time. What is your kill count?"

"Marks or overall?"

"Overall."

"261."

"WHAT?" Barton screamed from his corner. "Seriously, am I the only person who sees something wrong with this?" he said in exasperation as all three heads swiveled around and glared at him _again_.

"Barton, I'll get to you later. It's your fucking fault all this shit happened in the first place. Now shut your trap before I kick your ass into kingdom come." The Director Fury deadpanned. Barton visibly paled. God, if this was the world renowned Hawkeye, she really had nothing to fear.

"Now, this is going to take quite some time. We need to know everything about every mission you've ever been on, who you've targeted, and why." All he got in response was a low chuckle.

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Why the hell not?" he growled, dangerously close to snapping.

"I don't remember most of it. And I was never told why," she said matter-of-factly.

"What do you mean, you don't remember?"

"How much do you know about the Red Room?"

"Even less than we know about you."

"Well, they prided themselves on scientific development. After several… test trials… they perfected a drug that wipes your memory periodically. I can't tell you what happened, because I was injected after every mission they didn't want me to know about."

"How do you know your kill count then?" Fury said triumphantly, sure he had found a loophole in her argument.

"There was a leaderboard of sorts in the Room. Each girl's kills were posted after every mission. And I tracked the mission files down after I… left."

"You are _despicable_." He opened the file and extracted the top report. "The things you have done… do you even remember what happened to this girl?" he slid the report across the table. "Dreykov's daughter- found dead in her room. You tortured her to gain information from her father, then killed her anyways after he gave you all the information." The disgust on his face made her snarl.

"Do not presume to think you understand these things. I saved her from a worse fate-"

"Oh, is that what you did?" Fury laughed bitterly.

"LISTEN TO ME, YOU MORON. Her father was in a separate location. I had no idea what he was saying. They wanted me to torture her, so I did. Don't pretend you would have done differently. If you had been fifteen and knew it was either your death or someone else's, can you honestly claim to have remained ethical? I am what I am because it was the _only_ way to survive. After a while, they told me to bring her back. How do you think they develop all those drugs, weapons, and poisons? I killed her because the alternative was condemning her to become some higher-up's sex toy, or locking her up to be a guinea pig until she died. I've experienced both, and I can't tell you how many times I wished someone had put a bullet between my eyes. I got my share of punishments for disobeying too; so don't give me grief about it now. I am _not_ a petty child." She breathed hard, shocked. Natalia had never shared so much with anyone in her life.

Fury licked his lips, and for the first time a shadow of doubt clouded his good eye. "Alright then, let's get started." It was going to be a long day.

* * *

**BADASS BADASS BADASS BADASS BADASS BADASS BADASS BADASS BADASS BADASS BADASS BADASS BADASS BADASS**

**So, please let me know whose PoV you guys prefer- Clint's or Natasha's. Had to put off Fury's... discussion... with Barton, but it will be in the next chapter! As always, hope you enjoyed the story and please review!**


	4. Repercussions

**Sorry for the long break between updates- I got the flu, and it turns out fever and headaches generate horrible writer's block. As always, enjoy and review!**

* * *

**SHIELD Interrogation Room #3**

Clint's head drooped forward, then snapped up when Coulson's pen jabbed into the back of his hand. He was in _hell_, and had a multitude of black ink marks on his body to prove it. It had been amusing watching Natalia verbally beat the shit out of Fury, but even that gets old after ten hours. Seriously, the amount of stuff she had managed to do was astounding. She had been shot at, tortured, experimented on, blown up, and burned in practically every country in the world. Therefore, it certainly wasn't surprising that he had ceased being shocked at her antics after about 50 reports. Clint would have passed out from exhaustion long ago, had it not been for Coulson's incessant poking and Fury's threat looming over his head. They were both the very definition of pissed off superiors.

Clint slumped forward miserably, resting his head on his arms. He had moved to the table after the third hour, sensing that it was not about to end anytime soon. He would kill for a cup of coffee. When that had been mentioned to Fury, the Director had plastered on a sickly sweet smile and responded by saying that had Clint killed the red head in the first place none of them would be doing this. After that, he had thought it best to keep his mouth shut.

On the other hand, he was still not regretting his decision to spare Natalia. Her confession had only cemented his conviction that he had been doing the right thing. The outburst during the Dreykov debriefing was the last time she had exhibited any hint of emotion in the interrogation. Now she answered all questions coolly, giving as little information as possible. Any subtle moves to dig further on Fury's part resulted in a sharp retort or insult. Still, he had felt true sympathy when she had revealed the Red Rooms methods. If those sick bastards were still alive, he would gladly put an arrow in each member's eye sockets for what they had done to her.

Once again, Clint's thoughts began to wonder, and his eyelids drooped. Coulson didn't fail to notice, and leaned forward with a sadistic grin. This time, the vicious prod broke through the skin in his forearm. Clint snapped up, flailing and sending reports flying off the table. That did it.

"POKE ME AGAIN AND THAT GODDAMN PEN IS GOING TO BE SHOVED SO FAR UP YOUR ASS YOU WILL NEVER WALK AGAIN," Clint roared.

_Cricket… cricket…_

Oh crap, he thought, remembering where he was. Turning around slowly, he spotted a very amused Russian wet works specialist and his royally pissed boss. The veins around Fury's eye patch were becoming more prominent- never a good sign. The last time Clint had seen him this mad, five agents had been sent to India for a recon mission- permanently.

"Agent Barton, need I remind you that considering everything you are listening to is classified information, I can kill you and no one would be able to press charges?" Fury whispered menacingly. Clint swallowed, then nervously replied "yes, sir… It won't happen again sir." Coulson and Romanova both smirked at his discomfort.

"All right, let's call it a day. We'll continue at 0700 hours tomorrow. Coulson, call a team to escort Romanova back to the medical bay-"

"There's no need," she replied smoothly. "I'll show myself out." She got to her feet, and strolled to the door. Turning, she cocked an eyebrow at Fury, waiting for the door to open. Fury's mouth hung open, and he ogled her wrists. None of them had noticed that she had managed to free her hands and feet from the restraints on the wheelchair.

"Need I remind you that you were blindfolded on the way over-"

"Left, right, left, left, left, right, right, left, elevator for three floors, left, left, and through the first door." She cut in. Seeing the dumbstruck looks on all three men's faces, she rolled her eyes and muttered something about light deprivation training.

"Protocol dictates that prisoners will be escorted to and from all locations on base," Coulson interjected.

"If this entire base of highly trained operatives cannot stop one assassin from escaping, you should all just kill yourselves." She leaned against the door, waiting for their verdict.

"I'll take her," Clint said. _Anything_ to escape Fury.

"Alright, but see me in Coulson's office immediately afterward." Clint's heart sank, but he nodded. Fury gestured at the control room, and the door hissed open. Romanova stepped out, without waiting for her escort. They walked in silence until they reached the elevator.

"They're going to kill you if you keep pulling stunts like that," Clint muttered.

"I doubt it. Besides, if they keep me cooped up, that isn't the freedom you promised me." Clint set his jaw, and marched her down the corridor.

Outside the medical bay doors, she turned and said, "Tell your boss that if he expects me to be as cooperative tomorrow as I have today, he needs to stop putting cuffs on me. I don't need hands to do damage." Clint was unresponsive to the threat, and only jerked his head at the door. She smirked, and pushed the door open.

**SHIELD Medical Bay**

The bay wasn't as empty as it had been that morning. A wiry dark-haired woman was struggling as a nurse tried to push her down into the bed next to the one Natalia was occupying. "You don't understand- I got some new equipment this morning. I need to analyze it… who knows when I'll get the chance again."

"You're not going _anywhere_. You electrocuted yourself _twice_. Patricia, stop! You're staying over night, and that's final."

Patricia slumped back into the pillows, moaning intelligibly. Natalia had perked up upon hearing this conversation, and she headed over to the technician's bed.

"Have you been analyzing my equipment?" she asked.

"I don't know. Do you own a pair of fingerless gloves that puts out 30,000 volts of electricity?" Natalia nodded enthusiastically. Clint smirked. This girl really cared for her equipment.

"Ok... nice to meet you. That's some seriously cool gear. But what did you have in mind while designing the gloves? You could barbecue a wild boar with that thing and still have enough juice to destroy our computer systems. Hypotaurine assisted by capillary electrophoresis-mass spectrometry in multicellular organisms would be much better at conserving energy." Natalia eagerly opened her mouth to respond, but Clint cut in quickly. He didn't know much about science.

"Agent Cummings, meet-"

"Black Widow." Natalia said quickly, shooting him a warning look. Clint didn't notice, preoccupied with a slight pain in his stomach. He realized that it had been close to 10 hours since his last meal... which meant that Natalia hadn't eaten in more than 24 hours.

"I'll have some food sent up here," Clint said to her. She glared, hating that he had noticed her weakness. "Don't look at me like that, you need fuel." Clint scolded, reaching out to grab her shoulder before she could turn away. She hissed as his fingers touched the sleeve of her catsuit. Too late, he realized that the doctors hadn't bothered to treat her shoulder. Cursing, he hunted around for some gauze and antiseptic.

"Barton, I'm fine!" She exclaimed. Ignoring the Russian, he tracked down a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.

"Sit down," he commanded. Natalia sighed, but obeyed, knowing she should get the wound wrapped. Clint sat on the bed next to her, leg curled under him as he tried to examine the wound.

"You should get the suit off that shoulder," he said awkwardly. She raised an eyebrow, but unzipped the suit partially and slid the material off one pale shoulder. He swallowed hard, then reached out to slip her bra strap off the shoulder too. He dipped a bit of gauze in the antiseptic, and gently swabbed at the gash. She bit her lip, but remained silent. After the clotted blood was cleared away, he saw that the wound needed stitches. Eyes blazing, he got to his feet and burst into the doctor's room.

"Who was on duty when the Black Widow and I were brought in?" A pasty man slowly raised his hand. Clint stood in front of him.

"That woman is wounded. Her shoulder needs stitches. It should have been taken care of yesterday."

"She's a prisoner," the man said carelessly. Big mistake.

The next thing he knew, the man's shirt was in Clint's fist, and he was forced to look into those stormy eyes. "You will give her the stitches, wrap the wound, and then get her fresh clothes and whatever else she asks for. She is a _guest_, and will be treated like one." The man nodded nervously.

Releasing him, Clint strode back into the patients room. "Natal- Black Widow!" He corrected quickly. She turned to look at him. "_That_ is the successor for the tech guy you were referring to in Budapest," he jerked his head toward Patricia. "And try not to kill the doctor who's going to treat you, even though he might deserve it." Turning on his heel, Clint stepped out of the medical bay to meet Fury's wrath.

* * *

**Coulson's Office**

"Come in." Fury's voice rang out when Clint tapped hesitantly on Coulson's door. Entering, he saw Fury sitting behind Coulson's desk, twirling a pen between his fingers. Coulson was nowhere to be seen- _definitely_ a bad sign.

"Sir, I-"

"Sit down Barton," Fury cut in, not looking up from his pen. Clint obeyed immediately, not wanting to make this any worse.

"Are you sleeping with her?" Clint's head snapped up in disbelief.

"God, no! She's 17 years old!" Fury only nodded to acknowledge he had heard, and they sat in silence for a few long seconds.

"I trust that Romanova is in the bay?"

"Yes sir."

"Who is she with?"

"A doctor and Agent Cummings."

"Agent Cummings?!" Fury face-palmed and sighed heavily. Pressing a button on the desk, he commanded the technicians to pull up footage from the medical bay. Clint walked around the desk and spied Natalia and Patricia sitting together on one of the beds. Patricia had a sheet of paper spread in front of her, and was drawing up a diagram, nodding in response to Natalia's gestures. Slamming the computer shut, Fury turned to face Clint.

"Let me get this straight. After a month of our time and resources, you finally track down the Black Widow. You let her go, and she has been following you on all your ops ever since. She therefore knows where SHIELD safe houses are, and our friends and enemies identities. When you finally bring her in, we are supposed to make her an agent even though as of 36 hours ago she was one of the few people that SHIELD agents are instructed to shoot on sight when spotted. Now, she is in _our_ medical bay, having been treated by _our_ doctors, with no one to guard her except for a 100 pound unarmed technician. Said technician also happens to be the future technical director of SHIELD, and the two are currently drawing up weapons of mass destruction together. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Well, when you put it that way…" Barton mused…

"I AM GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU BARTON!" Fury's enraged scream echoed throughout the corridors. Junior agents everywhere scattered and ran for cover, and several had dropped to the floor in a comatose state.

"You fucked up. And now, not only is your job on the line, so is mine." Fury leaned back, sighing heavily. "I have been director of this agency for little over a year. There are a lot of people on the Council who would love to fire me, and if this doesn't work out, they will have a reason to do so."

"I'm sorry sir, but sparing her was the right thing to do."

"Barton, I like you. You're stupid, reckless, arrogant, and don't know when to fucking shut up, but I like you. You are valuable to SHIELD, but if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will personally hunt you down and castrate you with Coulson's pen." Fury peered at him, waiting for an answer.

"Um… Thank you, sir?" This situation was really screwed up, if he was thanking someone who had threatened to cut off his balls with a writing implement. But he hadn't been fired.

"I haven't decided what to do with you yet, but it's tied in with Romanova's behavior. You better be right about her Agent."

"I'm certain she will be an asset to this agency sir." Clint replied without hesitation.

"And if she's not?"

"I'll take care of her myself."


	5. The First Call

The door burst open, and Coulson stumbled through. Or, what Natalia assumed was Coulson- it appeared to be a towering stack of books with legs.

"Need some help?" she asked as he swerved from side to side, slamming into beds trying to keep the stack from toppling.

"Yes please," Coulson's strained voice was muffled due to the several manuals currently crushing his nose. Natalia got to her feet, and a few moments later the top half of Coulson's beet red face came into view.

"Thank you," he wheezed, and dropped his load on her bed. She walked over and set her stack down on the chair, then turned to Coulson quizzically.

"What is this?"

"Preparation materials." Natalia raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Alright, I may have gotten a bit carried away," Coulson muttered under his breath. Turning, he dug through a pile of stapled pages and procured a single sheet, which he thrust in Natalia's general direction. She grabbed it and after reading the first few lines, she looked up in disgust.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Well, these are standard SHIELD tests- all aspiring agents must take them."

"Is a… foreign language test, counterintelligence, and weapons ID really necessary? Look at my file!"

"We have already jumped through hoops for you by allowing a defective assassin to _take_ these tests. Fury's cleared you for testing pending the end of your interrogation. SHIELD knows what you are capable of, but the Council likes test results more than anything else. And they ultimately decide what happens to you. Pass the tests, and you get admitted to SHIELD." Natalia sighed, but there was undeniable logic in his statement.

"What are the books for?" she asked sullenly. Coulson perked up immediately, and rummaged through to procure a few manuals.

"You need to pass a written examination as well. This-" He placed one into her arms reverently, " Is the SHIELD protocol manual. Memorize it. We have pushed the written exam back to take place in 4 days, to give you some time to prepare." She flipped through it, and seemed satisfied.

"What's the rest of this?"

"Um… background information." Coulson rubbed his neck, looking slightly embarrassed. "However, Fury did suggest you read these before the psych eval." He gestured towards the books stacked on the chair. "He thought you might have to prepare for it a little bit." Natalia smirked at this- how considerate. But she had lied her way through psych evaluations before.

"Now, I'll take you to the examination room for the physical." Natalia followed him deeper into the Medical bay. It was going to be a long week.

* * *

**SHIELD Training Room**

**(**_**5 days later)**_

Natalia looked up from her stretching as Fury entered the room. She had not seen the director during the last 4 days of the testing, but today was the day for combat. It seemed like nobody wanted to miss the show- Barton showed up with Coulson that morning, giving her a cheeky grin before swinging up into the rafters. He seemed to have bounced back from whatever Fury had done to him. During the final day of 'interrogation', he hadn't budged from his corner and didn't say a single word. Every time she caught his eye he would look away, and seemed to be actively avoiding her over the last few days.

Natalia got into an intricate yoga pose and reflected on the last week. She had had fun on some of the tests, and most were ridiculously easy. The weapons ID had taken her all of ten minutes out of the appointed hour, and she had reduced the language instructor to a sniveling wreck when he realized that she had learned twice as many languages as he had in a fourth the time. Coulson had to pull her out of the counterintelligence exam halfway through, when SHIELD's senior interrogator cracked like an egg and started to answer all her questions about the agency (he was a goner as soon as she had gotten him talking about his daddy-issues). The doctors in the physical evaluation had been stunned at her stamina, agility, and flexibility. Even Coulson had admitted that if she even did half as well today, they would have to admit her.

"Ms. Romanova, are you ready to proceed?" She nodded in confirmation, and Coulson stepped forward to explain the next examination.

"We have kept you separated from the rest of the trainees during the last week. However, we timed the hand-to-hand combat test to coincide with theirs. If you beat them all, Barton will escort you to the shooting range." He didn't have to explain what would happen if Natalia didn't pass.

"One more thing, Widow," Fury cut in. "If you kill any of the recruits, Barton will shoot you. If you wound any of the recruits, Barton will shoot you. If you do _anything_ other than a simple takedown, Barton will shoot you. Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Natalia got to her feet and leaned against the wall. Coulson opened the door. A dozen SHIELD recruits marched in, and Natalia quickly sized them up. They all appeared to be at least ten years older and much taller than herself, and most looked like they had 50 pounds on her. In short: a piece of cake.

Coulson took the lead once more. "Welcome, recruits, for your final benchmark test before you're admitted to SHIELD officially. Your task today is simple. Black Widow, step onto the mat please." Natalia complied, and smirked at the disbelief etched into every recruit's face. Every single time her opponents underestimated her.

"Fight her. Those who win advance, those who lose don't. Got it?" Twelve heads bobbed up and down in agreement. Most of them looked giddy, like they couldn't believe their luck. A handful looked vaguely upset, and one had the audacity to question her place.

"Sir, with all due respect, may I have another opponent? Someone who is better suited to my abilities?" The bulkiest man said, sneering at Natalia. She opened her mouth to deliver a stinging retort, but Fury beat her to it.

"No you may not, recruit. Get your ass in the ring." The man bristled at the outright refusal, then marched onto the mat, staring daggers on Natalia. She decided to humiliate him further by giving him a good once-over, and then yawned and turned her back to him, stretching her arms over her head. His head turned puce, and he roared and charged her, swinging his fist at her head. Idiotic brute.

Without batting an eye, Natalia launched a spinning back kick, effectively knocking his fist out of the air. She then somersaulted over his head, twisting in midair to land squarely on his back, pulling her arms around his neck and yanking backwards. The recruit stumbled back, and Natalia quickly released him and slid between his legs. Spinning to face him, she planted a foot on his chest, sending him crashing to the ground. She calmly removed her foot from his chest, and sauntered away. A change in the air a few seconds later indicated that he was trying to sneak up on her. Stopping, she sent a reverse crescent kick to his left ear, stopping him in his tracks. He sat down hard on the ground, cradling the left side of his head, whimpering.

"Your ear is going to be ringing for the next few hours, but the damage isn't permanent. Now, if you'd like a more suitable opponent, I know a ten year old in Russia who would take a little longer to kick your ass." Natalia said as he stumbled away from her. Turning to the now silent bunch of recruits, she smiled viciously and chirped, "Who's next?"

Over the next ten minutes, she brought recruit after recruit down to the mat. Judging by the star struck looks on each of their faces, no one had ever witnessed anything like her style. Considering not one of them had lasted ten seconds against her, SHIELD's future was pretty bleak, she thought as she absently wrapped her legs around another man's neck, twisting and sending him flailing into the ground. Digging her knee into his back, she waited until he tapped the ground in submission before getting up. Turning to Coulson and Fury, she raised an eyebrow defiantly.

"Alright, recruits. There's another chance for you to take this test in a month. Next time, you will be pitted against each other- last one standing gets admission. Hopefully you all learned something today." Said recruits scrambled out of the room immediately- what a pitiful bunch.

Barton swung to the ground as soon as the doors closed. "I'll have a go," he said, looking to Coulson and Fury for permission. Fury nodded.

"That was pitiful- I want to see this."

Barton walked onto the mat, taking off his jacket and throwing it to the side. Looking at his heavily muscled arms, Natalia made a mental note not to let him pin her. Crouching, she readied herself for a real fight. They circled each other warily, but after she realized the infinite patience of the sniper, she attacked him. Gaining momentum (and distracting him) with two handsprings, she then exploded upward in a triple corkscrew and landed squarely on his back. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she realized her mistake- Barton didn't waver at all, and instead calmly leaned forwards, throwing her off him.

Natalia landed on her back, but immediately backwards somersaulted between his legs before he could grab her. She swept his legs from under him, and pounced on his back, digging her knees into his shoulders. Quickly, he bucked, dislodging her slightly. While she was unstable, he somersaulted forwards with a grunt, reversing their positions.

Before he could pin her with his arms, she growled and head-butted him, sending him reeling back. Natalia launched herself at him, immediately, wrapping her feet around his neck. She then swung around him upside down, releasing him after a 180-degree twist. This sent him crashing down to the ground with her crouched a few feet away. "If I hadn't let go, you'd be dead. I win." She said as he coughed weakly, still sprawled on the ground.

Then he started to chuckle, and propped himself up on his elbows. "Well-played, Nat." He choked out between fits of laughter. She whirled around, staring.

"What did you call me?"

"Nat. It's a nickname- you said I can't call you Natalia, and Romanova or Black Widow is just too long." She huffed in exasperation, and walked over to the door. Barton picked himself off the ground and bounded over to Coulson.

"How'd I do?" He asked with barely concealed excitement.

"14 seconds. God, Barton, how is it that you survived Germany?"

"I got lucky." Barton called over his shoulder, heading over to Natalia.

* * *

Fury watched the two assassins exit the room. He had seen the footage from Budapest- the teamwork there had been impressive, but had failed to surface since then. Pity, as that had been something worth cultivating. However, it seemed Barton was right about her. The test results so far had been impressive. It would take a miracle to keep her out of SHIELD now.

A vibration deep in his coat pocket startled him out of his reverie. He reached in and grabbed the standard SHIELD issue smartphone. A single red word pulsed across the screen. He frowned and ignored the call- whatever the Council wanted could wait.

* * *

**I apologize for how slow this story has been going for the last 2 chapters. I needed to give some background and show the foundations for friendship developing between Natasha and Clint. It's all a set-up for the next chapter. I promise that one will pick up the pace with a surprising twist (Hint: look up) :)****. Anyways, a proverbial cookie for anyone who has read through this entire thing and reviewed- I love you guys! The comments really stopped me from giving up. Anyways, please keep the reviews coming!**


	6. The Council

**SHIELD HQ- Private Shooting Range #4**

Clint loved the smell of gunpowder in the morning. He knew it was twisted, but everything about the shooting range calmed his senses. Leading Natalia into one of the private training rooms, he ran over to the weapons cabinet and pulled his bow gently from the top compartment (Coulson had it installed when he finally realized Clint spent more time in the range then he did in his own room). After carefully checking his weapon over, he remembered Natalia and motioned her over to the cabinet.

"Help yourself." She didn't move.

"Are you allowed to give me firearms?"

"Please- you can't shoot me in here and get away with it." She shrugged, and stepped forward to examine the selection of pistols. After extracted one from its compartment to test the weight, she seemed satisfied.

"What's the test?"

"Oh, this isn't a test," Clint said with a dark chuckle. She really had no idea what Fury had in store. "This is a warm-up exercise of sorts. They're setting up The Gauntlet." She frowned and set the pistol down.

"Well, take me there then. So I can assess the situation."

"Trust me- even you can't think your way through this one. Just relax and shoot. That'll help you more than anything else." She only crossed her arms across her chest, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Look, you can just stand there and try to wander the halls in search of the proper room, or you can come over here and have a little fun." Clint said simply as he pulled his quiver out of a side compartment. She still didn't move.

He pointed at the target directly opposite. "I'll take you in 15 minutes if you get a score of at least 27. And if I can't beat whatever you get, I'll take you right now. Deal?" She finally agreed and scooped up a few clips of ammunition. Planting her feet and aiming at a target, she bit her lip and fired three shots in quick succession. Barton bounded over and examined the target.

"29. You got two on the dot and one missed by a hair." She smiled, and nodded at him.

"Your turn."

Clint plucked an arrow out of his quiver, and let loose at the furthest target without a single glance. He sent another into the board directly in front of him, and the third shattered the shaft of the second, splicing the arrow. This time she followed him as he collected the arrows. All three had hit dead center. He smiled, satisfied.

"You lose. Take me to the next test." Natalia said, turning the 2nd target over.

"No I didn't! I put three in the center. That's 30 points." What was she talking about?

"You put _two_ in the center. The third one never hit the board. 20 points." Clint whirled around, shocked that she was desperate enough to play that card.

"But it would have hit-"

"Would have isn't good enough, showoff. Take me to the right room." She stared at him, unwavering. Finally, he relented and placed his bow back on its shelf regretfully.

"It's not a room, it's a floor. And you'll wish we had stayed when we get there. That I promise you."

* * *

The Gauntlet. Two words that struck fear in every SHIELD agent's heart. 25,000 square meters of artificial rocky spruce-covered terrain, and the hardest paintball range on earth. Instead of human opponents, The Gauntlet was fitted with a hundred robots designed with a single goal in mind- to take down anything that moves. They had 360-degree swiveling capabilities, and fire up to 200 rounds per minute with pinpoint accuracy. Each bot was also fitted with top of the range thermal sensors, making it impossible for any warm-blooded organism to hide. The only way to take one out was to hit small buttons on either its forehead or chest. A team of engineers had spent half a year calculating trajectories to decide the optimal positions in which to place every bot. In short, each individual bot was as advanced as any sniper, and together they formed an unbeatable army.

To make it through The Gauntlet, trainees must navigate through a maze, with paths that twist and turn until all sense of direction is lost. With bots strategically placed at intersections to launch surprise attacks. Then there is the clearing, a 100-meter stretch with minimal cover and two rows of bots lining one side. At the far side is a button that ends the simulation. Tripwires are woven in front of the button in such a way that only a person with extreme flexibility and extensive training in gymnastics would be able to make it across without a vat of paint spilling onto their head. _And_ there is an hour time limit.

So how does anyone make it through? They don't. The Gauntlet is designed to mirror a suicide mission- the perfect death box. It tests the courage, nerves, strategies, and ability to work under pressure of the trainee more than anything else. Even freakishly good aim can't help you through the course, as Clint had learned the hard way. He and hordes of recruits before him had made it through the maze only to be overwhelmed by sheer numbers in the clearing. Nobody, even the Black Widow, has a shot in hell in getting to the other side.

* * *

**SHIELD HQ- Gauntlet Control Room**

Clint pushed open the door to the control room only to be bowled over by several technicians carrying mounds of wire. The room was a mess; it seemed the entire tech department was here setting the Gauntlet up. After a sweep of the room, Fury and Coulson were spotted standing with a paunchy man drinking coffee on an elevated stand in the center. Clint and Natalia navigated through the crowd to get to them, and were joined by Patricia carrying a laptop and tablet device. She spared a second to flash a smile at Natalia, and then resumed reading something on her tablet.

"Is it always so chaotic in here?" Natalia asked her.

"No; usually we stick to a schedule and set up days ahead of time. The final results and analysis of your physical got in yesterday night, so we didn't have much time to prepare." She answered absently, typing furiously. Miraculously, she made it through tangles of wires and knots of people over to Fury.

"Ah, Romanova. Curiosity seems to have gotten the better of you. Want to take a look at the course?" Coulson asked amiably. She nodded, and they headed over to another computer screen, where he would walk her through the tutorial. Patricia and the paunchy man who Clint now vaguely remembered to be the technical director stepped aside (Agent Power or Powell or something of the sort), entranced by something on her tablet, leaving Clint and Fury together. Alone.

"Barton."

"Sir." They stood in terse silence until Coulson and Natalia rejoined them. She looked rather pale. He didn't blame her. Lesser men had thrown up as soon as they realized the impossibility of the task ahead.

"Um, Director Fury?" She asked, a slight tremor in her voice.

"Yes?"

"You don't expect me to go through the whole thing, right?"

"No. The minimum standard is past the second benchmark- about a fourth of the way in. No one's run the whole thing." She slumped in relief, and a mousy boy no older than Natalia herself stepped up onto the platform timidly.

"Um, sir? The Council needs to speak to you urgently."

"Tell them to wait."

"They're overriding our systems. Agent Powell is trying to fix it, but they'll be up on the main screen in about 30 seconds." Fury sighed, and turned to face the mass of technicians.

"EVERYBODY WHO DOESN'T ABSOLUTELY NEED TO BE HERE GET OUT NOW!" In ten seconds flat the floor was empty except for Patricia and Agent Powell- a remarkable feat.

"Put them on, Powell." He nodded, and Patricia ran to a computer. Seconds later, the pane of glass in front of the platform crackled to life, and Clint was suddenly staring at seven of the most powerful people in the world of intelligence.

"Director Fury."

"Councilmen… and woman."

"And who might these people be?" One thin man waved towards Clint.

"Agents Coulson and Barton, as well as Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow."

"Alright. So all involved parties are here. Excellent. Director, we received your report on the interrogation and approved the testing. However, we have come to another conclusion based on the results we have received over the last few days."

"Yes?"

A woman clasped her hands in front of her and leaned forward. "Well, Ms. Romanova seems to be quite an impressive young lady. So we have decided to give her a task better suited to her… talents."

"Where is this going, Councilwoman?" Fury asked, clearly irritated. Something wasn't right. The Council _never _made last minute decisions.

"The vote was unanimous. The Council has concluded that for Ms. Romanova to be admitted to SHIELD, she must run the full gauntlet. As a demonstration of her superior skillset, if you will." Shocked silence was all they got in response, until Fury cleared his throat nervously.

"But, that's impossible. It is designed to be completely _impossible_."

"Well, she has done many highly improbable things over the last few days. Her very existence should be impossible: a cold-blooded teenaged assassin, the idea of it is ludicrous. We need to be absolutely sure she will be an asset, now don't we?" She smiled coldly, voice dripping with barely disguised contempt.

"The evidence that she will be an asset has already been gathered. Protocol dictates-" Coulson's last try to suppress the Council was fruitless, as another man cut in coldly.

"The Council is overwriting protocol. Run the simulation. Get the Black Widow to that button in the hour allotted or terminate her. These are your new orders- follow them."

The screen went black.

And the room erupted in chaos.

* * *

**Muhahaha... Told you there would be a surprising twist. This is just a short chapter giving you a taste of what's ahead. So what to do you guys think about the new situation? What will Natalia do? Please send me a review with your thoughts, and I'll update soon with the gauntlet run.**


	7. Mission: Impossible

**Hope you guys are enjoying this story so far! Sorry for the cliffhanger at the end of the last chapter and the long break between updates- I had to write this a couple of times to get it right. So, without further ado, here is the long-awaited gauntlet run!**

* * *

_**Natalia**_

**SHIELD HQ- Gauntlet Control Room**

Natalia stood stock still, trying to think through the cacophony of noise. Nobody was dealing well with this new situation; in fact, everyone but Fury and herself was currently running in circles screaming like a headless chicken about something or another. She wished they would just shut up, to let her concentrate on how to stay alive over the next hour. It was a futile hope. By the looks of it, she had about as much chance getting through the Gauntlet as she did becoming the President of the United States. She had already run through several possible scenarios in her head, but every one of them ended with her brains splattered across a wall. So the Council had never had any intention of letting her join SHIELD; she had been so, so stupid agreeing to come in.

The noise was becoming a bit too incessant, and Natalia could feel a headache building behind her eyes. Turning to the four screaming SHIELD agents, she yelled, "EVERYBODY SHUT THE HELL UP!" They stopped momentarily to look at her, and then resumed their previous activities. Fuming, Natalia grabbed the spoon in one of the abandoned coffee cups, and hurled it through the air. It buried itself in one of the computer monitors by Coulson's head, throwing up a shower of sparks. Everyone shuddered to a halt, turning toward her.

"Did you just try to decapitate me with a spoon?" Coulson asked, stunned.

"Please, if I had wanted to decapitate you I would have." This got Coulson and Barton a bit more worked up, and they now started screaming at _her_. Powell and Patricia joined in, anguished about the destruction of one of their precious monitors. Natalia rushed to defend herself from both parties, and no one notice the telltale vein pulsing in Fury's forehead.

"ALL OF YOU IDIOTS SHUT UP RIGHT NOW OR SO HELP ME GOD YOU WILL BE SO BURIED IN PAPERWORK NO ONE WILL EVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY AGAIN!" Fury roared, slamming his hand against the table. This promptly restored some semblance of order to the room.

"Now," he said, massaging his temples, "first order of business. Powell and Cummings, how many people do you honestly need in here to finish the setup?"

After conferring for a bit, Powell stepped forward and said "6."

"Call in the six you trust the most after we're done here. Not the most skilled, the most trustworthy. And make sure they're loyal to SHIELD, not the Council." Natalia almost dissolved in hysterical laughter then and there. They were going ahead with this? It was a pointless exercise- even Fury had said it was impossible.

"Second, I need you two," he pointed to Patricia and Powell, "to keep the Council out of this room and our systems during the hour we are running the simulation. They can have access to the video surveillance in the Gauntlet, but they must not be able to give us direct orders or override the controls during that time." Powell laughed bitterly.

"It can't be done. The Council installed a failsafe- they can take complete control of all technology in here anytime they like. I say we get it over with and just shoot the girl."

"Thank you for contributing your opinion, but that's not up to you. Now, are you sure there's no way to do it?"

"No." Patricia whispered. When everyone turned to look at her, she drew herself up to her full height. "It's possible."

"Patricia, shut up! It isn't!" Powell exclaimed sharply.

"Yes it is. When they built in the failsafe, they gave us a small window of opportunity to hack _them_. We just need to jam their outgoing frequency, piggyback on the signal when their technicians try to fix the problem, and that will lead us to the Council's main database."

"Can _you_ do it?" Fury asked, pondering her strategy.

"I think so, but I'll need someone else to keep the virus on their frequency running while I hack the Council's systems."

"Done. Powell?"

"No way. They'll fire me if I help in any way."

"And _I'm_ going to fire you if you don't." Powell huffed, but reluctantly nodded.

"And now we need a plan."

After a few seconds, Coulson jumped in eagerly. "They gave us new orders and suspended protocol. All we need is to follow their new orders to the letter. It gives us a lot of wiggle room." Fury's face lit up, and he snapped his fingers.

"Protocol dictates that the test is to be undertaken by a single recruit with paintball weaponry in an hour's time, with no outside help. The hour's time limit was mentioned in the Council's orders, and the bots in there are too expensive to be shot at with real weapons, but everything else is fair game. We can run this like a real mission. Any other suggestions?"

A grin spread slowly across Barton's face, and Natalia had a nasty feeling that she knew _exactly_ what he was thinking.

"No way." She said, staring right at him.

"Oh yeah." Barton replied. Before Natalia could stop him, he had turned and sealed the deal.

"Coulson, do they make paintball arrows?" Coulson and Fury smiled, and Natalia kneaded her temples. She didn't work well with others. He was only going to slow her down. She was going to _die_, and it would be entirely his fault. But despite all her negative thoughts, a ray of hope appeared on the horizon for the first time.

* * *

**SHIELD HQ- Gauntlet Storage Room**

Natalia and Clint stood by the entrance to the Gauntlet, looking at the shelves of paintball equipment with Coulson. Since there were in fact no paintball arrows, Clint promptly claimed the best long-range rifle. Natalia grabbed two pistols and offered another to Clint as backup. He took it, and started doling out boxes of paintballs. She turned to the protective gear and stopped in her tracks.

"There's only one suit." Clint and Coulson turned around as well and confirmed her suspicions.

"How the hell is there only one suit in here?" Clint asked incredulously.

"Well, people only ever go into the gauntlet one by one. And the suits are one size fits all…" Coulson explained, and they started bickering about how to overcome this new problem. Natalia made a split second decision, and tossed the suit to Clint.

"Take it."

"You don't get it, do you? They're paintballs, but they come with enough force to break bones."

"If I get hit, I'm going to have worse problems than cracked ribs. Besides, I'll be faster without." Clint opened his mouth to argue, but Coulson cut in.

"She's right. The simulation is set to end as soon as vital areas of the suit are hit. Getting her one would only double the chances of failure. Putting it on her backup, however, gives her an edge, and she's going to need all the help she can get." Clint grumbled some more, but slid into the suit. Natalia tried once more to convince him not to come, to no avail. Sighing, she slid as much ammunition as she could carry into her many pockets (Fury got someone to bring her repaired cat suit down from the tech department). She took the comm offered by Coulson, and walked over to the door. Clint followed, slinging his gun over his shoulder.

"Let's go kick some robot ass."

* * *

**SHIELD HQ- The Gauntlet**

Natalia stood with the door to the preparation room behind her, staring. Turns out the Gauntlet had thrown a wrench in her plan before she had taken a single step. Fake trees were packed together, creating three paths in front of her.

Turning to Clint, she asked "which way?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"You've been here before!"

"Like three years ago, when I was a trainee! I was nineteen- my strategy was basically to just follow the gut feeling."

Natalia frowned, analyzing the paths. "Well, isn't there some sort of rule that if you keep your left hand on a wall at all times you'll get out?"

"Nat." She ignored the nickname.

"Or maybe it's the right hand…"

"Nat."

"But you still have to pick a path now…"

"NAT."

"What?" She snapped, whirling to face him.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" He asked, pointing to his ear. Oh-_ right_. She fumbled for the button on the comm, turning it on. Coulson had explained how to use one in the control room. None of her previous employers had bothered to provide backup, so radio communication was a foreign notion.

"Yes Romanova?" Coulson's amused voice sounded in her ear.

"Can you pull up a blueprint or map of the maze?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Natalia waited for a minute impatiently. Her hour was trickling away while he was hunting around for a document that may or may not exist. "Got it! Alright, go on the left path." She complied, and heard Clint talking to Coulson as he followed behind her. She walked along the path, and was about to turn a corner when Clint seized her arm. He mouthed the word 'bot' in explanation, and she nodded, backing up slowly.

Clint crept forward carefully. Coulson had also explained how the bots worked. They swiveled slowly to keep watch of all angles, but could only be taken out by hitting a small button on its 'forehead' or 'chest'. Unfortunately, at any time Clint could shoot at it, it could also shoot him.

Clint took a deep breath, and then rolled out into the gap between the hedges. The bot was facing him, and paint splattered the ground centimeters behind him as he continued rolling forward. Somehow during the somersault he had managed to free an arm and shoot it twice in the forehead with his rifle. The bot whirred to a stop, and Natalia stepped out from her vantage point.

They continued onward, following Coulson's directions and taking out the bots whenever he told them there was one in their path. Natalia hated it. She had absolutely no control over the situation- it was worse than being blind. One wrong move on Coulson's part and she was dead. She had never put so much power over herself into another's hands.

Nevertheless, they managed to pick their way through the maze in a record twenty minutes. The trees obstructed her view of the majority of the clearing, leaving only a swath of open ground and a large clock counting down on the opposite wall visible. The bots were shielded from her view for the time being, but she knew they were out there. This was the part Natalia had been dreading from the beginning. The maze was only a minor obstacle; this was a deathtrap. But she might as well get as much information as she could about it.

"Coulson, is Patricia done hacking the Council?"

"Yep."

"Put her on." A harsh buzz sounded in her ear, and then Patricia's voice could be heard.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, hi. I need you to tell me everything you know about the clearing."

"Ok… so it's 100 meters long, with two rows of bots along one wall. There are maybe thirty-five in total, with four feet between each and the next. Only cover appears to be a wooden wall at the beginning, a pile of tires and the remnants of a car in the center, and a couple chunks of drywall sprinkled throughout. That's about it, but I can pull up a few documents if you want."

"That's fine. Hold on for a minute." Natalia switched off the comm, and surveyed the scene in front of her, processing the information she had just received. If she and Barton just waltzed in there, they'd get shot down from lack of cover or run out of bullets. She needed another way out.

"Patricia, I need you to pull up a detailed analysis of the bots."

"I'm on it." A few seconds later, Natalia heard a triumphant cry. "Ok, got it."

"Find me a weak spot. Any errors in programming, blind spots, etc."

"Um… they can't see anything directly on top of them, and they won't shoot anything that's not above 30 degrees Celsius, but other than that they're perfect. You can't hide from them." Natalia bit her lip, thinking furiously. Directly on top… there's a thought.

"What's the top of the bot's head like?"

"It's basically a box. The top is a square foot in length, but it swivels around a lot. Why?"

"Oh nothing." Natalia said innocently, looked around her, trying to find anything else she could use. "What are the trees made of?"

"Plastic and metal."

"Is it sturdy?"

"Very."

"Alright, thanks." She disengaged the comm and turned to Clint. He had listened to this one-sided exchange with a look of growing uneasiness and bewilderment.

"You can't seriously be considering-"

"Yep."

"That's _nuts_."

"Maybe, but I need something to keep the front row of bots occupied and engaged." She looked pointedly at Clint. He paled.

"No way."

"Oh yeah." She smiled viciously, and set about explaining what she had in mind.

* * *

**SHIELD HQ- Gauntlet Control Room**

Fury looked at the video feeds from cameras in the clearing, frowning. Where were those two? Coulson had reported that they had reached the end of the maze twenty-five minutes ago. They had a quarter of an hour left, and even that was trickling away. Barton finally appeared behind the first section of cover. Fury breathed out a sigh, but his relief was short lived. A blinding flash of light later, Fury was staring at a scene beyond his comprehension.

"Coulson, patch me through to Agent Barton." He had a _lot _of explaining to do.

* * *

_**Clint**_

**SHIELD HQ- The Gauntlet**

His first thought after Natalia explained her plan was that Fury was going to have to follow through with that castration with a pen threat. After the initial fear, shock, and disbelief, the prospects of his future didn't get much better. Clint reflected on all this, trying to calm his nerves as he watched Natalia scramble through the densely packed trees. When she had gone as far as it was safe to go, she whistled, their signal for Clint to move out. Taking a deep breath, Clint sprang into action.

He sprinted out of the opening between the trees, praying to a higher deity he didn't technically believe in that none of the paintballs would hit him. Skidding to a stop behind the heavy wooden structure trainees used for cover, he slumped on the ground, catching his breath and bracing himself for what came next. Clint slapped a metal disk Natalia had procured from one of her many pockets onto a corner of the structure. That done, he charged out and zigzagged across the ground, diving behind the first chunk of drywall. Milliseconds later the wooden wall imploded in a spectacular column of flame. Poking his head out from behind the drywall, he saw that the now burning chunks of wood had the desired effect. The entire left section of bots were now rapidly firing paintballs at the fire, picking up on a temperature beyond the designated 30 degrees Celsius.

He didn't have long to marvel at how their incredibly screwed up plan was actually working, as a horrible buzzing sounded from his comm. Sighing, he activated the device.

"Barton, explain to me why the hell you just set my paintball range on fire." So they were getting straight to the point.

"Um, let me just say sir that this was in no way my idea."

"So _Romanova_ came up with this?" Clint tried not to be too insulted by the surprise lacing Fury's words. He wasn't _always_ responsible when something crazy happened…

"Yep."

"Speaking of Romanova, where _is_ she?"

"Have you taken a look at the feed from the camera pointed at the bots recently?" A long pause followed, and then Fury's voice took on an even more bewildered and irked tone.

"Barton, can you explain why your partner in this fucked up endeavor is currently balancing on the highly unstable head of a machine that could easily double as a machine gun with _no suit on_?" Clint winced. He was so screwed when this was over.

"As for the suit, ask Coulson. We'd be more than happy to explain everything after this is over, but right now I have about 10 bots on my ass and am dangerously behind schedule. Can we do this later?"

"Fine. Anything else I should know in advance?"

"Nothing comes to mind. But please tell Patricia to disarm the smoke alarms and sprinklers until after we're done here." Clint disengaged his comm, and ran toward the overturned car in the center of the clearing. With half the bots engaged at the heap of burning wood, he made it without getting hit. Once there, he spread his weapons and ammunition in front of him, planning to hold the fort here. All the bots now had something to shoot at, leaving none that could potentially turn and spot Natalia. He had three pistols and a rifle, as well as all the remaining ammo. Natalia had given him all her weapons and ammunition, having needed him to keep the bots occupied for as long as possible. Besides, where she was, weapons wouldn't help her.

Clint looked through a hole in the underside of the car, searching for Natalia. Spotting her balanced precariously on the head of a bot, his stomach lurched. Clint watched in amazement as she somehow managed to lean over, slamming a hand on the button on the bot's forehead. After it whirred to a stop, she leaped from that bot to the next with dexterity he hadn't encountered since he left the circus, wobbling for a moment before repeating her previous actions. Snapping out of his reverie, Clint loaded all his guns, and proceeded to take down as many of the first line of bots as he possibly could.

Over the next ten minutes, the sound of paintballs being fired slowly dwindled, until only sporadic shots from both sides could be heard. Natalia took care of the last bot in the back row, and Clint shot the remaining robot square in the chest. The room resembled a battlefield. Paint stains were everywhere, and a pile of multicolored goo and wood smoldered on the left side. Picking up his rifle, Clint stepped out from behind the car and went to join Natalia at the final challenge.

One look at the tripwires and Clint knew why she hadn't started working her way through them. The silver thread was woven in such a way that only a completely spineless person could crawl through. Even Natalia, with her small build and freakish flexibility, was stumped. Glancing at the clock, he saw that they had only a minute and a half left. They had made it this far, only to be overwhelmed by fishing twine. It would be hilarious if the situation weren't so dire.

"So that's it," Natalia said in a small, broken voice. "I'm officially screwed."

"Nat…"

"Promise you'll do it."

"Nat."

"I'm sure the infamous Hawkeye can at least make the shot clean. Do it quickly, ok?"

"NAT." He screamed at her in complete exasperation. Seriously, she had a problem listening when other people talked.

"What!?" She yelled back.

"Get out of the way." She complied, puzzled. He stepped in front of the tripwires, examining the way the threads were woven. Getting on his knees, he shifted from right to left, then finally found what he was looking for. Lying down on his stomach, he hefted the rifle. The shot rang out in the now silent room, and the paintball broke on the button, the force generated pushing the button in. The clock stopped counting down with seconds to spare.

Natalia slumped to the ground right beside him in shock. Looking between him and the clock, she opened her mouth to speak, then shut it wordlessly. What she did next shocked him to his very core. The Black Widow grabbed the pistol and covered the lenses of both cameras with bright paint, then turned and hesitantly wrapped her arms around his neck. Her forehead met his collarbone, and he felt her small body shake in his arms. A few seconds later, she broke the hug and got to her feet, dusting her spotless knees.

"That never happened," she warned him, mask back in place, then turned on her heel and walked away. Clint shook his head and followed her back to the control room, bracing himself for the dressing down he was certain to receive from an irate Fury for the second time in a week.

* * *

**Only one chapter to go! Before I post Fury's verdict, I'd like to know what you guys thought about this chapter. Please, please review!**


	8. The Verdict

Natalia took a seat next to Clint at the briefing room table, nursing a cup of coffee. Coulson sat across the table, absently twirling a pen between his fingers. For some reason, Clint kept his eyes fixed on the pen, pupils dilating and swallowing hard every time the tip pointed in his direction. It was quite amusing, really- the world's most renowned sniper reduced to a nervous wreck by a black ballpoint.

Just as her thoughts began to wander, Fury made his grand entrance carrying a few files. Plonking down at the head of the table, he eyed the room's occupants and then slid a slim folder across the table to Coulson.

"Let's get this over with." Coulson put his pen down on the table, causing Clint to breath out a shuddering sigh of relief. Judging by Fury's amused glance in his direction, Natalia figured he knew _exactly_ what this was about.

Coulson went through the required documents, stating that she had passed all SHIELD tests and been debriefed. She nodded at the appropriate places, and then Coulson extracted a blank form.

"Name?" Natalia opened her mouth to reply, and then shut it hesitantly.

"Ms. Romanova?" Coulson asked, not sure what to make of her silence.

"What's your name?" She asked quietly. Coulson looked surprised, but didn't fail to answer.

"Phil. Phil Coulson." Natalia sat and pondered his answer. Phil Coulson. Patricia Cummings. Clint Barton. And suddenly she knew what needed to be done.

"Natasha." She said, quickly choosing a first name, relishing the sound of it. She was more than eager to leave Natalia behind. Dropping the 'a' at the end of her last name would suffice in Americanizing it, but Romanov didn't feel quite right. Unintentionally, her thoughts wandered back to that fateful night in Germany. The corner of her lip quirked as she remembered the strange way Germans had pronounced her name.

"Romanoff. Natasha Romanoff." Coulson quickly marked it down on paper, nodding in approval.

"Good choice," Barton whispered in her ear. She pretended not to hear him.

"What about your code name? Do you want a new one?" Natasha cocked her head, considering him. Giving it up would help her turn over a new leaf, but she had earned that name through year upon year of hard work and bloodshed. The Red Room had given the name Black Widow to its best asset, and she had kept it after the room disbanded as a reminder of that fact. She was untouchable, invincible, and the name reminded her of that fact whenever she had felt weak. It was the reason she was still alive today, inspired fear in all who knew it, and had never failed her.

"No." Coulson marked something else down, and then proceeded to fill in information on her physical attributes (height, weight, hair/eye color, etc.), referring to her medical form for additional information.

"Date of birth?"

"No clue."

"What?" Coulson looked up from the paper, puzzled.

"I got thrown out of a burning window when I was about two. The orphanage couldn't find any birth records, and the Room never bothered. I don't know." Coulson looked at Fury, and Natasha remembered something Clint had said that didn't quite add up.

"Wait. How did _you_ know I was 17?" Clint looked away from her intense green gaze, coughing in discomfort.

"Intel tracked down one of your old neighbors. She knew the approximate month and year you were born in. Said all the women babysat for each other a few times when needed."

"She knew my _parents_?" Natasha shrieked, shocked.

"Vaguely remembered, and not by name. She thought you were born sometime in October or November 1988. Apparently you were a memorable infant," Coulson replied with a smirk. Natasha tried not to dwell on what exactly _that_ statement meant.

"We need an exact date," Fury stated without preamble. He was on a short fuse today.

"Today's date will suffice as the day," Natasha said carelessly. Birthdays had never been important occasions in her life, so she didn't even bother to find out what the date was before answering.

She answered all other questions without a hitch, signed her new name several times, and Coulson sent the form down to the chief intelligence analyst to be completed, joking that it would take several hours to finish detailing her work experience.

"Now, with that done…" Fury leaned forward. "The Council's pissed, but they're granting you amnesty since you kept your end of the deal. That said, SHIELD is being forced to punish the two of you for breaking about fifty rules. The list is really quite long, so let's get started." Natasha and Clint groaned in unison, but the director paid them no heed.

"Alright, Barton- you first. You're confined to base for two weeks for disobeying orders." Barton looked downcast, but nodded his consent. It was only to be expected that he had to be punished for bringing her in.

"You will be receiving no paid leave this year as retribution for blowing up the Gauntlet- which reminds me, we need to have a little talk on your excessive use of explosives. Your salary is being lowered to $55,000 for ignoring protocol, and you will have to retake the SHIELD protocol test for that same reason. Also, they're insisting I bring your security clearance down to a level six- _again._" Barton groaned, dragging the heel of his hand across his face. Fury then turned to Natasha, and she braced herself for an onslaught of unpleasant news.

"_You_ are on probation for the next year, which means that if you disobey orders like Barton here or step out of line in _any_ way we have been ordered to terminate you." Natasha inclined her head- this was old news.

"You're also confined to base for two weeks, for keeping that explosive disk on your person against SHIELD's knowledge. It's bull, I know, but they needed to peg you with something, and you're not bound by protocol yet. At the end of that time, you are still not allowed to leave base unless accompanied by another agent and cleared by me. Agreed?" She nodded her consent.

"Alright. And we also have to inject you with a tracker chip just in case, which can be removed at the end of this year."

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"You will not inject me with a tracker chip like a disobedient dog. It's nonnegotiable."

"That isn't up to you," Fury said through gritted teeth. "If you don't, we may have to terminate you."

"Go right ahead," Natasha hissed, leaning forward on her chair. "If I'm confined to base for a year unless accompanied and cleared, I won't need it anyways. No tracker." Fury tried to stare her down, but Natasha firmly held her ground. Finally, he sighed and agreed.

"Alright, but that means moving the confinement unless otherwise accompanied up to a full year. Just pretend you've had the injection if the Council ever asks. What they don't know can't hurt them." Natasha smiled slightly, and Fury moved on.

"Your starting salary will be $45,000, just like every other agent. We'll also be starting you off on a level three security clearance-"

"No."

"What is it now?" Fury growled.

"Level three means I barely have clearance to look at files about dead civilians. You won't be able to tell me _anything_ about my missions. I defected for a reason- level six at a minimum."

"No _way_ are you getting a level six starting clearance. I can do four at the most."

"Five," Natasha said, staring at Fury.

"Look, we can only give you level four for now. As soon as you successfully complete a mission, I'll bump that up to a five. Can we proceed?" Natasha scrutinized Fury for any signs of deception, and finding none, allowed it to pass.

"Alright. You will be ranked just like any other SHIELD recruit for now, though I have no doubt that will change quickly. Coulson will be your handler-"

"Hold it right there," Barton cut in, sitting up straighter upon hearing this. "Coulson is _my _handler."

"Precisely." Fury said, smiling viciously. The meaning of his statement hit Natasha and Clint around the same time, and their eyes widened simultaneously. They looked at each other in shock, then turned back to Fury.

"NO." They exclaimed in unison.

"No, no, no, no, no, no…" Natasha repeated, looking between Fury and Coulson in shock. Her new handler was smirking at the responses from both his charges, and Fury looked positively gleeful.

"Sir, I don't need a partner. I'm a fucking sniper- I wait, watch, and shoot people. How the hell could a _spy_ possibly help me?" Clint pleaded, trying to convince Fury not to do this.

"I don't need Robin Hood here as a babysitter," Natasha growled venemously, staring daggers at Fury, ignoring Barton's indignant response.

"Both of you shut up. This is _nonnegotiable_. Have either of you seen the footage from Budapest? It's really fucking impressive, and the teamwork in the Gauntlet is something worth developing. Besides, Coulson is the _only_ handler who could possibly put up with you without having a nervous breakdown- he's held up dealing with Barton for the last three years," Fury explained to Natasha, with a wide smile on his face that gave her a bad feeling.

"Plus, I wasn't done yet. Since Romanoff is a new asset, a lot of SHIELD employees are terrified she is going to slit everyone's throats in their sleep. Also, she is _technically_ underaged, and is required by law to have a guardian." Natasha _really_ didn't like where this was going, but kept her mouth closed, sipping at her now stone cold coffee with an expressionless mask firmly back in place.

"So we decided to kill two birds with one stone, and gain back some of the Council's favor by having the two of you share quarters." Natasha promptly spat a mouthful of coffee out onto the briefing room table, spluttering and coughing. Ah well, it tasted like motor oil anyways. Fury ogled her, blanching as if he had just seen a ghost. His eye twitched, and he muttered something about the two of them being a match made in heaven.

"Oh hell no," Barton finally got something out, having sat gaping for the last few seconds. "Fury, are you fucking serious? This is a death sentence!"

"Of course, Barton will have to relocate into larger quarters. You won't have to share a _bed_ or anything. Separate bedrooms, shared living quarters, the works. It's a move up actually." Fury continued, smiling the entire time at the looks on both their faces. Coulson had been watching this entire exchange with barely concealed mirth. So _this_ was their punishment.

"I'll leave the two of you to work that out later," Fury rambled on before either of them could cut in. He tossed both of them a key with a numbered tag attached, successfully ignoring the death glares he was getting. Natasha was also thrown an additional box, which she opened cautiously. Who knew what other horrors Fury had planned?

On the top was a document stating that she had been granted amnesty. Natasha slid it to the side after thorough examination, which revealed all her confiscated equipment. Digging through to make sure nothing was missing, an object fell out onto her lap. Natasha picked it up, and then noticed what it was. The SHIELD insignia was etched on a badge in the palm of her hand, and she had to fight down a sudden surge of pride and gratitude. Maybe this situation wasn't so bad after all- at least someone competent was going to watch her back. And she had _no_ doubt she could get rid of Barton later if she had to. Putting the badge back into the box, she looked up and spotted all three SHIELD agents looking at her.

"Welcome to SHIELD, Agent Romanoff," Fury said, and the meeting was adjourned.

* * *

_The End_

**So what did you think?**_  
_

**It was a pleasure writing this story for you guys! I'm thinking about writing a sequel or at least a companion story, since I kind of set myself up for it in this chapter. It would be fun, but I need to know what the readers think before I commit to another multi-chapter fanfic _(read the above as I will write a sequel if you spare a moment to write a review asking for one :)_. Any requests or suggestions for future stories would also be much appreciated. If I do write a sequel, I will post a preview on this story- just a heads up.****  
**

**Anyways, special thanks to all my reviewers and followers- you know who you are. I love you guys, and couldn't have done this without you!**


	9. Excerpt From Sequel

**Aaaaand I'm back! Did anybody miss me? ;) Anyways, here is the excerpt from the sequel I promised you! But first, a little background:**

**The sequel's title is **_**Bringing Down the House**_

**Summary: After their first mission's disastrous results, Fury sentences Clint and Natasha to a month's suspension. Clint may have saved her life, but that hasn't bought her friendship. When the remnants of the Red Room resurface, she must forget their differences to bring her old enemies down. Can she learn to trust him in time, or will her past consume her?**

**Now, without further ado- the first chapter!**

* * *

It began, as it always did, with probation.

Day 10 of his two week confinement to base, and Clint was going stir-crazy. When the initial chaos involved with getting assigned new quarters and a partner died down, time seemed to slow down just to spite him. The seconds stretched into minutes, hours shifted into days, each blending seamlessly into the next. Even after spending hour after hour at the shooting range, Clint had far too much time on his hands.

The fact remained that despite his boyish, immature tendencies, he had never gotten along with any of the other junior agents. Clint Barton tended to generate three reactions in his colleagues: jealousy, grudging respect, or lust from the young SHIELD women, which caused even more of their male counterparts to gravitate towards options one and two. It didn't help that he was a mystery to most, keeping to himself as much as possible. So with no friends to speak of, and two royally pissed superiors, he only had one choice for company.

Surprisingly, _Natasha_ the defected teenage assassin was faring much better. Unlike Clint, Natasha generated just one reaction: fear. Many were jealous of her abilities, and questioned her place in this agency, but an overwhelming fear pervaded everything else. She seemed to have embraced this at an early age, as she turned a blind eye to the blatant dislike and hate directed at her when her back was turned, and didn't question why everyone scrambled to get out of her way. Dividing her time between the SHIELD library (which Clint hadn't known existed), the tech department, and the training rooms, she only returned to their shared quarters to sleep, sneaking in late at night and slinking off at the crack of dawn. He saw her less than the rest of base did, and so his last hope for companionship had dissipated.

He was pacing back and forth in one of the corridors on the fifth floor, pondering all this when it happened. Picking up on the stampede of technicians, young field agents, and intelligence analysts headed down the hall towards him, Clint sighed and looked around for a place to hide. He wasn't quite ready to face Fury yet- it seemed his boss was still sore about his blatant disregard for protocol, and he had issued some… _interesting_ threats at their last confrontation. Pulling himself into a storage room, Clint leaned against the door to wait for the telltale signs that Fury had passed.

They didn't come.

"Director," Coulson greeted directly outside the door.

"We need to talk," Fury replied curtly, all business.

Thir voices lowered to whispers, and Clint strained to hear what they were saying. _Espionage… no other choice… still on probation… too risky… really?... Barton can… _Clint snapped upright when he heard his name. They seemed to be debating a mission- the one hope he had of getting out of this hellhole. Unfortunately, this realization had caused him to miss the rest of their conversation.

"I'll drop by your office later this afternoon to sort out the details," Fury finished, raising his voice to the normal volume, and then strode down the hall. Clint waited until Coulson's footsteps faded in the distance, then scrambled out of the closet.

He needed to know what they were talking about. And he knew just how to find out.

* * *

The air vents at SHIELD were extensive, clean, and most importantly- spacious. Clint strode through the halls, craning his head upward to find the optimal entry point. It had to be positioned so he could easily locate Coulson's office, but also so no one would find the removed grate for a few hours. A maintenance worker had screwed the hatch back on while he was still inside once- that had been extremely unpleasant, and resulted in severe reprimands and probation.

Rounding a corner, eyes fixed adamantly on the ceiling, he slammed into a solid object. Reeling backwards, he looked down to find a pair of cat green eyes peering up at him reproachfully.

"_Natasha?_"

"Do you have eyes, Barton? _Watch where you're going_," Natasha hissed, picking herself up off the ground.

"What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for Patricia," she replied smoothly.

"On the seventh floor," he deadpanned, not buying it for a second.

"I got lost." She said after a few moments. Clint snorted in disbelief.

"_Bullshit_. You could find your way back to medical after being blindfolded and taken halfway across base!"

"Not everything makes sense."

"Most things do."

She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. " Fine- Coulson wanted to see me."

"No he didn't! He has to-" Clint cut himself off hastily. It wouldn't do to give himself away. Unfortunately, she had already picked up on his hesitation.

"Do you know something?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

"That depends- do you know what I think you know?" he countered easily.

"Do you know what I think you know I know?"

"Do you know what I think you know I know you know?"

"ENOUGH," she screamed, running a hand through her crimson curls, breathing deeply. "Were you on the fifth floor near the R&D center half an hour ago?"

"_You know!_"

"_Yes_. And I heard them mention us, so I need to find out what they have planned."

"And how do you plan on doing that?" Clint drawled. She held up a small metal disk in response, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Let me guess. You stole that from R&D when Patricia's back was turned, and now plan to just stroll into Coulson's office and plant that under his desk?" She nodded again.

"That's a stupid ass plan. They have cameras and bug sweepers in there. Plus, you're on probation- if they find out you're as good as dead."

"Well, do you have a better plan?" she spat the words out venomously. It really didn't take much to annoy her.

"As a matter of fact, yes- but you are not coming. Now, if you'll excuse me." He turned on his heel, but barely made it two steps before a small cold hand clamped down around his wrist. She yanked him back to face her, pulling him down by the neck of his shirt so her face was inches from his.

"Try to stop me," she growled, then shoved him back. Clint sighed, dragging a hand through his spiky hair. She was right- there was no way he could keep her from following.

"Try to keep up," he muttered, then continued his search.

* * *

Clint slid forward on his stomach, staring down through the grate at Coulson's desk. Natasha followed just as silently. The vents were only wide enough to accommodate one person's width, but she refused to let him tell her what occurred. After a bit of maneuvering, she ended up half sprawled on top of him, head jammed next to his. Clint breathed deeply, refusing to let his rapid heartbeat betray him. It was all for naught- when she exhaled, he felt the puff of air on the nape of his neck, and couldn't help an involuntary shiver from creeping down his spine. Judging by her huff of amusement, she knew _exactly_ what she was doing to him.

Thankfully, Coulson entered, and all further activity was suspended. For the next hour, they stared down at the top of his head as he worked through some paperwork, mumbling to himself. Natasha wriggled on top of him, trying to get comfortable, and Clint had to bite his tongue to stop himself from shivering again. The vent groaned, and she froze, slowly lowering her body until her mouth were right next to his ear.

"Is that normal?" she whispered, lips brushing against his earlobe. He gave a noncommittal shrug in response, and bit down on his cheek so hard he tasted blood.

The phone rang, the sound cutting through the still air. Coulson picked up on the second ring.

"Coulson," he said by way of greeting, and Clint tried to make sense of the one sided conversation he was having- presumably with Fury.

"Yes sir… I understand… Right away sir… Briefing Room 4?... I'll alert them immediately." He hung up, then leaned back in the chair, sighing heavily. After a few tense seconds, he leaned forward, reaching for something under his desk.

Clint shifted to the left to see what was under the table, while Natasha leaned to the right to keep her eyes on Coulson's face. The opposing motions caused her to fall off her perch on his back, landing with a thud on her side beside him. An awful shriek of metal on metal echoed through the vents, and their section slipped a few inches downward. They only had time to shoot each other a single horrified look, before it gave completely.

* * *

_**The chapter does not end here. **_

**How does Coulson react to his charges falling from the sky and into his lap (literally)? And what is this mysterious mission? Go to **_**Bringing Down the House**_** to find out!**


End file.
